Progression
by MillyOnFanfics
Summary: Eliza's progression from hating Alexander to preserving his legacy. Musical references intended.


**Hahahahaha the historical inaccuracies are real**. **Oh, I added some things that weren't in the musical, just because. Also, Eliza's a cinnamon roll.**

* * *

I. _I'm erasing myself from the narrative_

She watches the letters as they burn. They burn, _burn_ , burn and she feels a sick sort of satisfaction in watching the letters burn, the empty promises burn, their love burn and yet it doesn't because she still loves him but she shouldn't.

She shouldn't, she shouldn't. Not at all, but she can't stop _she can't she can't, she can't_ and it's the most frustrating thing she's ever, ever experienced, ever and maybe that's a good thing, maybe it's not.

She honestly can't tell anymore and she honestly doesn't want to care.

 _Huh_ , Eliza thinks. _Me not wanting to care is new_.

But she's hurting and her heart has frozen to everyone but her family. _Alexander isn't family_. _He isn't_. He published that _damnable_ pamphlet, destroyed their lives, destroyed her…

" _You have married an Icarus. He has flown too close to the sun,"_ She remembers Angelica saying as she comforted her.

Fitting. Alexander is – perhaps was, now? – always ambitious, never stopping for anyone. His self-importance was palpable, but she overlooked that for love. Love, the tender bonds of marriage that formed oh-so-many years ago.

The bonds he broke.

Eliza's fists clench and her heart breaks because who does this man think he is, messing with her heart the way he does, that mix of beautiful and horrible that is just so – so _Alexander_? What right does he have, to leave her helpless like this?

He has none.

Tears stream down her face, a mix of anger and despair that just mesh together to form a sort of saddened fury.

Once she's finished, she belatedly remembers the giddy feeling the letters used to give her, the delighted shrieks whenever she read his writing, the swelling in her heart when she read _my darling Betsey_ on the paper, knowing he was hers.

 _Was_ hers. He isn't now, and she knows she's being repetitive, and she knows Alexander hates repeating phrases too much.

Good.

About five minutes later, the fury has cooled into despair again. Why wasn't she enough what is enough she wants to be enough.

Hormones are the bane of her existence. One second she is mad, then sad and she doesn't know why, but it feels natural so she just lets it happen.

Her children give her time to grieve. Her perfect angels don't say anything when she returns with eyes red-rimmed and hair strewn messily around her face. (apart from her little ones, but they're little so she forgives them).

She doesn't know where Alexander is, but she finds that she can't quite worry. Their marriage is ruined, anyways.

* * *

II. _Sept, huit, neuf_

Philip is dead. The tears cascade down her face as she lets out a heart-wrenching wail. Philip, her beautiful baby boy is gone, ripped from her grasp by the cold hands of death.

Alexander sobs too, but he will never really understand her pain. The pain of a mother losing her first-born is beyond description, too awful for words.

He seems to know this.

Eliza remembers that his mother died. So did his cousin. Death is not new to him, then. He holds her hand for a split-second, but she pushes him away. She does not need his comfort ( _But you do_ , whispers her conscience. _You very much do_ ).

* * *

III. _Look at my son_

When her baby is born, she names him Philip.

Alexander says nothing. He doesn't deserve to. He merely looks at Phil once, a long look to see what he looks like.

She sees nothing on his face, total indifference. She isn't quite sure what to think about it. So she doesn't. "Hello Phil." She smiles at him, tiredly. He wails, stubbly hands reaching out for Alexander.

"Shush, darling." She soothes. "Can you take him?" She asks Alexander, holding out her – and his – son.

"Um, okay." He says, taking little Phil in his arms with the easy talent of a man who has had multiple children in his life. "Hello Phil," He murmurs quietly. He keeps murmuring relaxingly to little Phil. She would have found it endearing if she wasn't still hurting.

Once Phil has calmed, Alexander hands him back over to her. She takes him, not letting their hands touch. Phil makes a grab for her hair and gives a sharply gentle yank.

Alexander's eyebrow raises, and she can understand why. _He_ did that too. She exchanges a look with him, and for a minute she forgets that she is supposed to be angry, and he smiles and all is right with the world.

She remembers that she's supposed to be mad, but she can't bring herself to be fully angry. "I'll forgive you later," She promises sleepily. Alex – her Alex – is almost back, but there is still grief, there will always still be grief.

"I'm glad, Eliza." He says carefully. "You're a very forgiving person."

* * *

IV. _It's quiet uptown_

Alex stands in the garden for a bit, (read; a few hours. Eliza doesn't really bother with time management anymore).

He stands with a heavy sigh. (not that Eliza is snooping, merely – observing). He walks somewhere; she doesn't know where.

He comes back late.

This continues for a few days until he decides to take a risk. "Eliza, would you like to join me?" he asks. She nods, surprised.

"Of course." She says, standing with poise and walking to where her – husband? Acquaintance? Friend? – husband, stands.

He looks at her then, the first proper look she's had of him in a long while. His eyes, she realizes, are still the eyes she fell in love with – older yes, more stressed yes, but they still are the eyes that had her helpless, _have_ her helpless.

They walk around the city, and Alex is talking again, quietly, almost to himself. "I'd trade my life for his." He said, like it was fact, and she supposed it was, to him. "And you would smile, and that would be enough. Listen, Eliza… I don't pretend to know the challenges we're facing, I know there's no replacing what we've lost, and you need time, but I'm not afraid. I know who I married; just let me stay here by your side, that would be enough."

He pauses, then. "I'm sorry you know."

"Alex–"

"No, no, Eliza please, I'm sorry."

She nods. "I know. I know, my love, my dearest, Alexander." His eyes light up.

"I've missed you, my darling, Betsey." He says. Her hand finds his, on instinct.

 _Forgiveness, can you imagine?_

Her children seem to know. There's still differences, of course, Angie's babbling on about Philip and how he's so happy to see that they've made up and Jr. hasn't quite adjusted yet, but it's a start.

* * *

X. _I put myself back in the narrative_

Tears stream down her face as she reads the letter. She can't believe this. Just – three? Four? – hours ago, she was falling asleep, comforted by the fact that Alex would be home when she opened her eyes.

He wasn't; he still isn't and he won't be – not ever again. Sluggishly, she gets up to put on the black dress of grief. She imagines Alexander and what he would say about her lethargy, _"Why are you being so slow, my love? I do not want you to do that, stop wasting your time on tears."_

She laughs, a shattered sound that has to do more with grief than anything else. "Oh Alexander," She murmurs brokenly. "Why did you leave us? Why did you leave me?"

There is nothing. Even if she can hear his voice answering with a loud " _Burr was an idiot, Eliza, he challenged me; I had to accept, for the sake of pride_." there is still nothing, no Alexander ranting, bright-eyed and huffy, no obdurate set of his jaw, and especially no answer.

She sighs, bringing a hand up to wipe away the salty tears coming in a continual flow.

She goes to check on her children. Each and every one of them cries out when they see her, running to embrace their mother.

She accepts it. She needs their comfort, especially since she cannot have Alexander's reassurances.

Her children finally let her go, still crying, because just as things started to change for the better, they got worse.

A few weeks later, James Monroe comes tapping at her door.

"Mrs. Hamilton," He greets awkwardly, dark eyes hesitant, searching for any sign of the woman's forgiveness.

"Hello Mr. Monroe." Her tone is tersely brusque. "May I help you?" Her eyes are fiery; they burn him with their fierce gaze.

But more than anything, James notices how she makes no move to play accommodating housewife. That hurts him.

"I wished to extend a hand in friendship." He offers tentatively. "As well as my condolences and apologies."

The fire burns brighter. "Yes, let's apologize about the death of my husband, and not about the aftermath of that darned pamphlet!" She hisses, bitterness coating her words. For a moment, she looks upset; like she is still human, because James only sees a resentfully twisted facsimile of the true Elizabeth Hamilton. "Good day." She snaps angrily.

Once he has left, Eliza sits down on a chair, emotionally spent and exhausted. How dare he – trying for amnesty now, of all times? Half-pleading – not even full pleading, half pleading.

"Mother, I feel there is something you should read in Father's study. If you will come–" Here, AJ looks at her inquisitively.

"Of course, Junior." Eliza consents, standing to go after her son.

He leaves her in Alexander's study. "Look around." He invites, "Father left a note telling me to let you do whatever you wish to his numerous writings."

The first thing she moves toward is a parchment labeled "Betsey" in gracefully elegant script. What follows is her husband rambling on gushingly about her in several thousand flowery words.

Her heart swells.

In that moment, Eliza promises something to herself – she will honor her husband and his legacy.

 _I am not throwing away my shot_.

* * *

XI. _It's only a matter of time_

It has been so long – too long.

Eliza is an old woman now – in her nineties, a far cry from the woman she used to be, young and vivacious and beautiful.

She smiles, now. On her deathbed, she has found peace. She will see Alexander and all will be well. It's high time she gets a break, she worked tirelessly to preserve her husband's legacy, even through financial struggles at home.

"Miss Eliza, you can't!" Begs her deputy, tears flowing.

"It's alright, dear girl," Eliza says soothingly. "I've had a good, long life and I want to see my family again." She knows that her deputy understands who – Mama, Angelica, Peggy, Philip, Papa and Alexander. Especially Alexander.

"Alright." Helen accepts with a sigh. "Say hello for me?" She asks hopefully.

"Of course. Goodbye Helen."

 _It's only a matter of time_. Eliza thinks happily. _My love, I'll see you on the other side_.

Eliza Hamilton closes her eyes with a smile.

One last time.


End file.
